


Odysseus

by ElGato



Series: The Great War [4]
Category: DC Cinematic Universe, Wonder Woman (2017)
Genre: Aftermath, Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-24 12:15:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12012528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElGato/pseuds/ElGato
Summary: After the war, Diana finally sets foot in America to tell a family about their heroic son.





	Odysseus

Diana could be described as brave. That would be one of the biggest characteristics about her that people noticed. She fought alongside men--and in front of them--in the most hellfire of war. She journeyed to a world so unlike hers and maintained her course. Her goal.

But death and grief, those were things that were new to her and she experienced it in tenfold, taking in the form of her aunt first, and then a man she began to hold most dear. Others’ grief, or the inevitability of it, wasn’t something she was as confident about.

It had been a month since the official end of the Great War, and with every day after the victory celebration at Trafalgar square she couldn’t help but turn her attention to this mysterious land Steve grew up in. This land Chief had taken away from his people.

Chief, being good at his job of smuggling, was helping homeless and disenfranchised victims of the war flee to the west. He always laughed at the irony of it.

“Nothing left I can do to help my people. There’s nothing. But if these people have  _ something _ to their lives to want to start somewhere else, like I started here, I am not going to deny them that.”

His assistance helped her take a boat to America.

Diana wasn’t there to marvel at the country. She wanted to, maybe at some time in the future, but she was here for a purpose.

It was only right to locate Steve’s family and try to tell them what had happened, and to help them deal with grief. 

This is where Chief continued to be more than helpful. She hadn’t realized that Chief's life was so interconnected with Steve’s. Both Americans, but from very different perspectives. Still, according to Chief, people like Steve and his family, they are the type to be self aware. They know their place in the world, which was, in the grand scheme of things small, insignificant. They didn’t throw their weight around. They just, per Chief’s words “did their best.”

He sent her to the north. To the thick woods and broad expanse of barely touched American territory.

“The tribes there call it ‘The place that lies red’. Mostly farmland, but a sizeable logging and fishing industry,” Chief explained. “Steve’s family now resides along the bays.”

 

She reached the destination, trying hard to not get lost or distracted by the beauty and strangeness of this land. It wasn’t like Themyscira. And it wasn’t like London. It was new and different.

Dressed in her travel cloak, she found the cabin that Steve’s family now resided in. It was on an expanse of rural land, not far from the shores of a large, ocean-like lake. Lake Michigan is what they called it.

Along the path that led to the cabin were a series of carts and barrels. A woman in a faded emerald frock and grown and an apron was over one barrel, packing what looked to be meat of some kind between her hands into tight patties. From the smell of it, the meat was probably fish.

The woman looked to be fairly young, but her hands were dark and stained with something other than fish paste. Her long brown hair hung loosely, the grizzled thick tendrils blowing slightly from the breeze from the lake.

The woman glanced up at her when she approached, looking startled and wary.

“I,” Diana paused as the woman cocked her head. “I am here on the behalf of Steve Trevor.”

The woman’s brow furrowed, “He’s in the cabin.” Diana thought the woman must be confused. She then turned her focus back to her task at hand. “If you want to speak with him about gunpowder, rifles, contraband, he’s not doing that on demand anymore. Unless you’re here for...other things.”

With the last statement the woman fixed her with a defensive look, almost as if Diana encroached on something dear to her.

“It’s nothing like that. I would like a few moments to...talk about what happened in the war.”

“I guess you are speaking of his son then,” the defensive gaze melted away into something that was somber, maybe teetering close to grief. “Steven Sr. is in there. Mind you he is grouchy these days.”

Taking that as permission to enter the cabin, Diana walked up the walkway, feeling the wary eyes of the woman on her back as she took a deep breath and entered the house.

 

The cabin wasn’t very large, but somehow the interior made it seem smaller. Every space on the wall and around the corners of the main living area was filled with objects, weapons, photos, maps, artifacts, trinkets, and books. There was a velvet love seat by the window that looked over towards the lake and a worn straight backed leather chair near the love seat. It wasn’t messy--in fact, everything seemed organized in someway--but it was cluttered, filled with experiences.

The room smelled of smoke. Not the smoke from her times in war. It smelled like the smoke she had experienced at the sleepy bar and inn at Veld. Smoke from pipes and cigarettes.

 

Diana removed her gaze from the decorations when a man entered. He wore a rich black tweed three piece suit, a crisp white undershirt poking through the V of his vest. A shining gold chain was seen through the buttons of his vest that lead to the open lapel of his coat. The wearer didn’t notice her at first, seeming to head into the main room for some other reason, but lifted his head and froze at the sight of her.

It was safe to say that Steve must have gotten his looks from his mother. Steven Trevor Sr. was shorter than her by a bit, stocky, fit, with short dark slightly faded dirty blond hair that swept behind a distinguished receding hairline. He had a shaggy beard the same color of his hair and a rather misshapen bridge of his nose where it was likely broken more than a few times.

But, to Diana in an odd way, he reminded her a lot of Steve. As if she looked at him he could’ve imagined what Steve would’ve looked like if he had the chance to...grow old. Trevor Sr.’s eyes were much the exact ones Diana gazed into when she first experienced snow. Though these were more haunted, shadowed, gazing at his own lifetime of horrors.

The next thing that Diana noticed about this man was that, despite his height, he seemed bigger than his size. He held himself straight and true, squaring himself perfectly to react in an instant if necessary. Muscles still firm and well used. There was an air about him that reminiscent of the heroes of her mother’s stories. The heroes of her own stories.

 

_ Like Odysseus. _

 

That’s who he reminded her of. With his maps on the wall. Charts and graphs of ships and barges. Trinkets from places near and far. Graphs and lithographs of creatures he had encountered. Steven Trevor Sr. was an adventurer, who’s been to the ends of the earth and back. Who had a million tales to tell. Odd to think that perhaps decades ago he could’ve stumbled upon her shores. Maybe.

Maybe not. Lest he share the same fate as his son had.

 

“Yes?” the man’s voice broke, deep and raspy, but still clear. Like the rumble of a lion.

 

Diana flinched snapping out of her evaluation of the man, noting what was clearly passed to Steve and what wasn’t. “I, um, I am sorry for the intrusion. I was told you were able to speak to me. About...what happened in Europe. Your son--”   
  
“Was killed,” the man finished.

Diana nodded, trying not to portray her feelings. Though she assumed her presence alone told a smart man like Steven Sr. the entire story. He gestured to the love seat as he sat in his leather chair. Diana took that as an invitation to sit.

“His secretary told me,” he said staring down at the ground, thumb slowly running along his lower lip in thought. Not unlike what Steve did when he tried to think of how to convince Sameer to join them. “Poor girl. I offered to bring her here. I know a professor in Boston that could use an assistant. She declined.”

“I am very sorry. I do not mean to bring up sorrow,” Diana’s hands were fidgeting in her lap. “I just thought you would want to know what happened. Perhaps, I assumed too much.”

The man’s gaze lifted to hers in a scrutinizing stare, “You would be?”

“Diana Prince,” she answered, not liking the icy feeling she was getting. Her nerves were getting the best of her. She felt like he  _ knew _ the details of why it was her who decided to cross the ocean to inform Steve’s family of the tragedy and not a commanding officer. “I knew Steve during his final days. That’s why I decided to come. I am...I admit I’m a bit short sighted when it comes to grieving families and friends.”

His eyebrows rose, the wrinkles in forehead deepening, yet he nodded slightly and suddenly Diana didn’t feel like she was considered an intruder. The intimidating exterior was just that, and Steven Sr. was clearly more often than not understanding.

“Yeah it’s never easy,” he said with that distant sigh his son had. “I do not envy that burden.”

He stroked his beard lost in thought again. Thinking of his son. But then his attention turned to him, “Would you like coffee?”

Coffee? She had heard of it, but never tried it.

“I would.”

He got out of his chair and disappeared behind the back to make coffee. As he did, he continued their conversation, raising his voice so she could hear him from the kitchen as he brewed coffee.

“From what they tell me, my boy really loved his coffee in the morning when he grew older. Personally, I can only take a cup every once in a while.”

As he spoke, Diana took the time to gaze at the photos that rested along the windowsill that overlooked the bay. Pictures of various people of all shapes and colors, including a very faded photograph of a gentle looking woman with ghostly light hair holding a young boy in her arms. The woman was clearly trying not to betray her amusement at being photographed, likely for the first time. The boy, however, looked serious, seeming to give the photographer a judgemental stare. This must’ve been young Steve and his mother.

Diana covered her mouth to stop a chuckle from escaping her throat.

Next to that photograph was a picture of Steven Sr. A young version of him with longer hair and a shorter beard. His eyes were less pierced with visions of horrors then. He stood proud in a uniform, complete with a wide-brimmed hat on his head and a rifle and sabre in his hands.

“You were a soldier too?” she asked as Steven Sr. came back into the parlor with two tin cups of hot coffee.

“I was,” he grunted as she handed her a cup. “I was a soldier for the government for a hot second. Now my official title is ‘deserter’ and ‘traitor’.”

“What happened?”

He paused, after he sat back down in his chair, his brow furrowing deeply, “Because I didn’t become a soldier to murder people. And it was bit too late to figure out that’s what my country’s government wanted. I deserted in the middle of my first massacre in South Dakota. From there I’ve been...everywhere, drifting, smugglin’, fightin’, averting U.S Marshals and Rangers.”

He gave a subtle gesture to the memories of his adventures around the house. “Fur trader, tracker, mercenary, I’ve done everything since.”

“A friend of mine named Chief mentioned his people had their homes taken away from them,” Diana took note of a twitch at the mention of Chief’s people. “I’m assuming that was in the last war.”

Steven Sr. shook his head, “There’s been tons of wars here alone. I can’t say which war Chief lost his people in. If it was a war. Sometimes...people like his people, their tribes get wiped out even when there is no war to be fought.”

He continued, “But, I’m glad to hear Chief is still around, helping people. I remember we would smuggle refugees from lost tribes to other welcoming tribes for safety. But…”

He ran a hand through his hair, “even they will inevitably be lost too. And no matter how much people like Chief will try...it’s becoming less and less possible to save everyone.”

He glanced over at his memoriam of his past lives. He picked up the faded picture of the woman and child.

“Either way, whatever I did, wasn’t much of a life for a child. I’ve moved them all over the place while I was gone. To keep them safe. After years of traveling with me, being thrust in my adventures, and then being pulled hither and tither, his mother couldn’t take it anymore and she left me for a better and more stable life.”

Diana thought about what Steve said about marriage and “death do them part”. She now understood why he seemed to dismiss the concept of marriage for his own life, but from the soft fondness on Steven Sr.’s face showed he still held the mother of his child with high regard. Perhaps the fond memories faded, and in it’s placed was reality. Especially when he would never see either person in that photo again, “How did he die?”

Diana explained, in the best way possible, what had happened. She watched in grief as the man before her took it in, tried to remain passive, but then started to crack.

“Ah, cripes. What a...shit way to go,” he grumbled hand over his mouth to keep the despair in. His eyes however shown bright with tears, brow furrowed and reddening from the attempt at keeping in his grief.

Diana, holding back tears at the wounding memory, glanced down at her wrist, unfastening Steve’s watch.

“I also wanted to give this back,” she held it out and placed it in Steven Sr.’s hand. “Steve said this was yours. I figured it was only right to return it to it’s owner.”

The man eyed the watch, examining it, before let out a grunt, “It’s my watch alright.” A smile played a tad at the corner of his lips. “In my younger years, I used to do odd jobs to occupy my time. A former slave from Georgia gave it to me. I used to always be late with his deliveries from the train station, so he made it so I could always be on time.”

Diana remained silent, wanting to hear more of this story. More of his tales. He must’ve had hundreds.

His thumb brushed over the glass that covered the broken hands of the watch, his brow knit together. “I gave this to him before he left, you know. There I was, about to head down to Mexico for some...dealings when he confronted me about leaving himself. Volunteer over to the war in Europe. I wish I said I was proud of that moment but…”

His haunted blue eyes that now seemed grey, glanced out the window next to his chair, “Truth is I didn’t think much of that then. I figured he had his assets in order, you know. There he was bargin' through my door taller n’ me, a man suddenly. When I could’ve sworn the last I saw him before he was just a wee lad.”

He gestured with the watch in his hand, “I gave him this. Make sure, unlike me, he’d be on time for his duties at his own start. Lord knows, if that’s what he did with it.”

“Breakfasts,” Diana said out of reflex.

“Pardon?”

“He used it to tell him when to wake up, eat breakfast, read the newspaper…”

Steven Sr. gave just the barest of grins and nodded, “I see…”

He weighed the watch in his hand a little, lost in thought. “He gave this to you?”

Diana nodded. “Before he-- yes, he did.”

“And wanted me to have it back?”

She paused, “He gave me no instructions on what to do with it. I thought, since it was yours to begin with, I would give it back to you.”

Steven Sr. looking briefly, only slightly amused, handed the watch back to her, “Then this aint mine. I gave it to Steve and he gave it to you. So, it’s yours.”

Diana felt the weight of the watch in her hand again. The time--stopped at Steve’s passing from this world. She thought about what Steven Sr. had said, about the watch no longer being his. He passed his legacy--this legacy--to his son. Now that legacy was hers. Hers to cherish with Antiope’s legacy.

“You know, my mother did the same thing before I left to see the war,” she paused, noting that the gentleman in front of her was giving her his full attention. “She gave me something that was worn by my aunt--who was killed that day.”

There was a shake of his head, disappointed in yet another death caused by war--though he did not know Diana’s aunt actually fought in the war.

“I still carry it with me. And Steve, well, he’s had that watch with him everywhere he went.”

Diana restrapped with the watch to his wrist, “I don’t mind carrying legacies. Especially of those who show the best mankind has to offer.”

Reaching into her coat pocket, pausing only slightly, she procured a photograph. With hesitation, she held it out to Steven Sr. “Then please take this.”

 

The photo was the one taken in Veld after their victory against Ludendorff’s army. Sameer managed to track down the photographer and get the photo. He sent it to her before she left for America.

“That was taken the day before he died. His team was instrumental in liberating the town.”

Steven Sr. chuckled only slightly after taking a look at the photo, the first time she saw the semblance of a soft smile grace his lips, “Yep, that’s him alright.”

He paused, his finger pointing to the center of the photo, “And that’s...that’s you.”

He glanced up at her, eyes holding her still as she nearly went red with embarrassment. Her current dress wasn’t much of a disguise simply because she didn’t think about herself in the photo. Just the men in it.

Steven Sr. placed the photograph gently on the windowsill next to his other photographs of himself and mementos of his family.

“I’m sure you have your reasons to keep things to yourself. So I won’t ask questions unless you wish me to.”

 

The younger woman from earlier entered the home, wiping her hands with a dirty rag. Again, she eyed Diana with defensive curiosity but spoke to Steven Sr. “The barrels of dried fish are ready to ship, Steven. The Nevada Company will have no excuse to swindle us this time.”

“Much appreciated, love,” he replied in a voice that was both stoic, but meaningful. His words may not have colorful or impassioned, but in the few moments that Diana had to get to know Steven Sr. she figured that he meant every word he spoke in his life. Steven Sr. gestured to the woman. “Ms. Prince, you’ve met my wife, Clara.”

Diana couldn’t hide her mild shock. Though age never mattered to her being immortal and all, there was something a bit strange to see a man be involved with a woman who was only a few years shyer than his own son. It wasn’t something she could understand.

Then again, like his son, Steven Sr. could be still considered a catch in this world even in his older age. After all, she didn’t exactly have room to judge. This world was still new to her.

“Briefly, yes. I was not aware that you two were married however.”

“I met Steven here running away from rangers. I blew up a few coal mines--hence why they call me ‘soot hands’. Can never get coal grime off very easily,” Clara explained.

Diana gave her a pointed look, but refrained from judging. Her experiences with people who didn’t exactly follow the letter of moral law told her that first impressions meant nothing. Clara gave her a coy smile, “I’ve moved on from blowing things up, be assured. Steven and I have been in business ever since. Tried to exercise some civil disobedience the right way.  And then I decided to marry him.”

A small curl on Steven Sr.’s lips betrayed his amusement at the memory, “She made a very convincing argument, I must say, Ms. Prince. She wasn’t going to take no for an answer.”

“For someone like me, noble men can be a frustrating lot,” the Clara teased. She extended a clean hand towards Diana, “I am sorry for being paranoid earlier. Most of our uninvited guests tend not to visit for just a chit-chat. Guns are often involved.”

Diana took her hand, “Understandable. I had no intention to disrupt.”

“Of course. As soon as I found you were here for Jr. I knew you weren’t one of the company men sent here to push us around.”

Steven Sr. sighed and placed a gentle hand on Clara’s back, “I’d rather our guest not be dragged into lenghty discussions on American politics and companies, love.”

Clara seemed to ignore him and asked Diana, “I’m sorry what was your name again? I’m afraid I didn’t catch it.”

“Diana,” she answered. “Diana Prince.”

Clara quirked an eyebrow as she nodded, “Diana...such a pretty name.”

“Thank you.”

“Might we offer you a place to stay?” Steven Sr. offered. “We don’t have a lot of room, but you must be tired from your journey.”

Diana adjusted her clutch and said politely, “I’m afraid I must decline, though please know the offer was much appreciated. I should like to return to London as soon as possible. I have a...uh...another life to start there.”

Steven Sr. nodded gently and walked her to the door, “If you need anything, though, please don’t hesitate to write or telegraph.”

“You’ll come to find we are very resourceful,” Clara commented.

Diana gave the barest of smiles, “If something comes up, you’ll be the first I notify. I appreciate the support.”

With that, she gave Steven Sr. and Clara hugs, to their surprise, before she made the journey down the walkway and eventually back to London.

 

It wasn’t until years later, that Diana would learn that at some point Steven Trevor Sr.’s past and list of offenses towards his army and law agencies caught up with him. No longer able to keep up with his retirement he became involved in the underground again, smuggling barrels of banned liquor and creating uprisings against prospectors and railroads encroaching on villages of the Navajo peoples and independent farmlands. Old fashioned terrorism according to the government who were paid to do something about the rebellions by the respective industries.

He was captured by Texas Rangers who sent him to an Oklahoma jail to await further instructions on what to do with him in terms of a trial. Steven Sr. died alone in his cell on his fourth night there. Of an apparent heart attack.

And such was the fall of the Trevor family.

Except…

Steven Sr.’s young wife gave birth to their daughter less than a year after Diana’s visit. Clara “Soot Hands” Trevor wasn’t lying when she said she liked the name “Diana” as the little girl was christened with the same name.

**Author's Note:**

> Fun Fact: In the Perez version of Wonder Woman Steve Trevor’s dad is named Ulysses--which is the Latinized version of Odysseus, hence the title. But I like to think the Trevor family isn't really original when it comes to male names and just have a line of Steves.


End file.
